jogging to left field. Wade Henning was already on the pitching mound, forcing Bentley to take a route closer to Sean on first base. As he passed by, his skin tingled with awareness.
Shit.
He kept going, didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. An image of Sean, standing inside his room the night before was forever etched on his memory. A person didn’t have to be gay to notice Sean’s height or his broad shoulders. Where some athletes looked like lumpy toads in a suit, Sean could be a cover model.
Once in his position in left field, Bent risked a glance toward first base. Flannery fielded a warm-up ground ball then threw it to Stevens at third base. The man could throw. There was power in his lean frame, but he wore it well. No bulging muscles, just thick, well-toned cords packed with efficient energy.
Whatever workout regime he used, it worked for his body type. Five years ago, there hadn’t been an extra ounce of fat on the man. From what little he’d seen since Sean had joined the Mustangs, nothing had changed.
His mind flashed back to the two times they’d been in physical contact—the first day in the clubhouse then the next morning in his backyard. He could still feel Sean’s body rolling with him on the floor and the following day, pressing him into the lawn. Solid muscle.
He shook his head to clear the images and dislodge the crazy thoughts running rampant through his brain. Standing near the warning track, all alone with nothing but time to think, he could admit one thing—he felt something for Sean. The night before he’d called it love, but probably because the asshole had said it first, put the idea in his head.
Lust. Yeah, that fit. It was crazy, but his body reacted to Sean the same way it reacted to Ashley. He wanted them both. There was just one difference—he could have Ashley. Nothing in the world compared to being inside her. She’d been different from the very beginning. She’d never been impressed with his job, his celebrity status, or his money. Employed at a local television station, she had worked her way up to News Director in charge of several syndicated shows. As such, she made a pretty good salary on her own.
He liked the way she wasn’t gaga over him. Sometimes he was just the guy she wanted taking out her trash, but mostly, she was his friend. They liked the same movies, the same restaurants, and she took off her makeup before coming to bed, so when he took her, he was seeing the real woman, not a version of herself she put on for the rest of the world.
And, Lord, was she soft. Her skin smelled sunny and sweet, like a garden of flowers in bloom. He loved to wrap her silky hair around his fist then ride her from behind like a Mustang in heat. She liked it, too. She never shied away from trying new things in bed, which made for some rather memorable experiences.
He’d be a fool to screw things up with her over his ridiculous obsession with Sean Flannery.
The game seemed to fly by then, before he knew it, they were in the top of the ninth inning down by two runs. He came to bat with two outs, managed to draw a walk from the pitcher, which brought Sean up to bat.
Standing on first base, Bent’s nerves hummed. The Mustangs needed Flannery to come through with a homerun to tie the game. Getting on base was the next best option, but with two outs and the bottom of the order batting behind him, the chances of Sean scoring from any base were slim.
The count stood at three balls, one strike. He cursed the struggling pitcher. “Come on. Come on. Give him something to hit.”
The first base coach gave the sign to hit away, clearing the batter to swing if the pitch was good.
He inched down the line, crouched—ready to cut loose. With two outs, he was running if his teammate connected with the ball, no matter what. There was nothing to lose by doing so.
The pitch was low and maybe a little outside. Flannery swung, connected. Bent sprinted, rounded second before he saw the home
Shit.
He kept going, didn’t look back. He didn’t need to. An image of Sean, standing inside his room the night before was forever etched on his memory. A person didn’t have to be gay to notice Sean’s height or his broad shoulders. Where some athletes looked like lumpy toads in a suit, Sean could be a cover model.
Once in his position in left field, Bent risked a glance toward first base. Flannery fielded a warm-up ground ball then threw it to Stevens at third base. The man could throw. There was power in his lean frame, but he wore it well. No bulging muscles, just thick, well-toned cords packed with efficient energy.
Whatever workout regime he used, it worked for his body type. Five years ago, there hadn’t been an extra ounce of fat on the man. From what little he’d seen since Sean had joined the Mustangs, nothing had changed.
His mind flashed back to the two times they’d been in physical contact—the first day in the clubhouse then the next morning in his backyard. He could still feel Sean’s body rolling with him on the floor and the following day, pressing him into the lawn. Solid muscle.
He shook his head to clear the images and dislodge the crazy thoughts running rampant through his brain. Standing near the warning track, all alone with nothing but time to think, he could admit one thing—he felt something for Sean. The night before he’d called it love, but probably because the asshole had said it first, put the idea in his head.
Lust. Yeah, that fit. It was crazy, but his body reacted to Sean the same way it reacted to Ashley. He wanted them both. There was just one difference—he could have Ashley. Nothing in the world compared to being inside her. She’d been different from the very beginning. She’d never been impressed with his job, his celebrity status, or his money. Employed at a local television station, she had worked her way up to News Director in charge of several syndicated shows. As such, she made a pretty good salary on her own.
He liked the way she wasn’t gaga over him. Sometimes he was just the guy she wanted taking out her trash, but mostly, she was his friend. They liked the same movies, the same restaurants, and she took off her makeup before coming to bed, so when he took her, he was seeing the real woman, not a version of herself she put on for the rest of the world.
And, Lord, was she soft. Her skin smelled sunny and sweet, like a garden of flowers in bloom. He loved to wrap her silky hair around his fist then ride her from behind like a Mustang in heat. She liked it, too. She never shied away from trying new things in bed, which made for some rather memorable experiences.
He’d be a fool to screw things up with her over his ridiculous obsession with Sean Flannery.
The game seemed to fly by then, before he knew it, they were in the top of the ninth inning down by two runs. He came to bat with two outs, managed to draw a walk from the pitcher, which brought Sean up to bat.
Standing on first base, Bent’s nerves hummed. The Mustangs needed Flannery to come through with a homerun to tie the game. Getting on base was the next best option, but with two outs and the bottom of the order batting behind him, the chances of Sean scoring from any base were slim.
The count stood at three balls, one strike. He cursed the struggling pitcher. “Come on. Come on. Give him something to hit.”
The first base coach gave the sign to hit away, clearing the batter to swing if the pitch was good.
He inched down the line, crouched—ready to cut loose. With two outs, he was running if his teammate connected with the ball, no matter what. There was nothing to lose by doing so.
The pitch was low and maybe a little outside. Flannery swung, connected. Bent sprinted, rounded second before he saw the home
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